


Pierced Shield

by carmen_sandyeggo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Gore, Death, M/M, Niflheim Civil War, Prelude, Violence, slight dubious consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmen_sandyeggo/pseuds/carmen_sandyeggo
Summary: Since the Niflheim Civil War has ended, Lucis has aided the country with their investments to rebuild the nation. The war itself involved the Lucian army, as well as many Glaives-- who lost their lives due to a senile mad scientist. It would be more than safe to say the event left sour taste in Lucian's mouths. Established allies does not equal friendship. The Niflheim Guardian and the Lucian Shield face each other head on-- clashing and challenging one another to prove their point. One, to make up for what happened. The other, to show Niffs are, and always have been, less than human. But as they fight tooth and nail, they realize they're not so different after all.





	1. Prelude - Bellum

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prelude to explain what 'The Civil War' is in reference to in future chapters. As well as Prompto's personal accounts that will come to light later on in the story.
> 
> aegri somina-- a sick man's dreams
> 
> unbeta'd

     If there’s anything history has taught any of us, is that war is a festering breeding ground which chaos thrives in—ultimately dividing the unity of people. Whether it be international or civil. It’s a plague, infiltrating and poisoning minds of those who are easily swayed to stand on ‘the right side’ of conflict. Some say one is worse than the other. Some will say they are equally terrible—both sides argue, defend, excuse or understand ridiculous reasoning for such a conflict in the first place.  
  
The civil war in Niflheim, in this case, nearly left the country in ashes. A war of what, you may ask. A war of progression. A war of ethics. A war of power. A war of greed. A war no one asked for—except Verstael Besithia. Proposing a stronger, more reliable army to the Niflheim emperor, Iedolas Aldercapt, Besithia pursued a dream that no one would be bold enough to even attempt to turn into reality.  
  
A super soldier. One which can be mass produced, trained, and nearly impossible to kill.  
  
But how? After years of study and research, he found a way. Using humans as testing vessels to internally house daemons. And to have humans willing enough to sacrifice themselves in such a way was—well, impossible. Realizing this, he found a loophole. What if he used his own DNA to supply the number of humans he needed to fill in his army? What if…they were born and raised into this world. Indoctrinate every single one of them to obey and execute order without hesitation. They’d only be that much powerful with a daemonic power to eradicate any enemy who stood in their way.  
  
Ignoring the order of his disapproved proposal of the project, Verstael continued with his research and experiments anyway—funding it himself. It had taken a year to resolve why the infants were stillborn—realizing they could not be born with a daemonic entity. Removing daemonic essence from the formula, he succeeded in creating his laboratory experiment. His first son. Prompto. He thought, maybe, once the boy grew old enough, he’d be capable to hold such a powerful spirt; making his dreams of a genetic super human a reality.  
  
The mad scientist repeated his process of genetically engineering humans—fathering five children: Olenna, Mikah, Reston, Ilyzbeth, and Prompto. When Besithia’s projects had been found out, he promised Prompto, his first succession, to the emperor— should he age, train, and prove himself worthy to protect and guard their leader of Niflheim. The Besithia children would lead the new and reformed army. Their years of rigorous training in place of an innocent childhood proved greatly indeed. Prompto represented everything a commanding officer desired in their troop. They all did. Prompto implemented new standards of hand to hand combat, weaponry skills, marksmanship, and special mission support. But this was over the course of his 16 years of life—not exactly an ideal timeframe to rise an entire military.  
  
Impatient, their father grew hungry for more concrete and fit to fight soldiers—attempting his hand to berth adults in full form to use his collection of daemons. But one failure after another, Verstael grew desperate. He took the youngest, Mikah, and put him under for daemonic injection, much against the other children’s pleas. Prompto begged his father to take his place, doing everything he can to protect his baby brother.  
  
“How can I give you to the emperor if this injection fails, ultimately killing you? Your siblings only exist for disposability. Everything I do, is for you.”  
  
Verstael documented the failure in depth through audio recordings. He described how the 12-year-old boy seized, his body flooded due to internal bleeding from the daemon tearing him apart.  
  
In the death of Mikah, Prompto fled to the Gralea Imperial capitol with his sisters in tow. Reston refused to leave, wanting to stay and please Verstael. “How could you all betray father? He gave us _life_. He can make us _stronger._ _Immortal._ And _this_ is how you thank him? Traitors. All of you. You are no brother or sisters of mine. When my vessel proves to withstand the daemons, I’ll lead our army. We’ll declare war and destroy you.”  
  
By the time the three teens reached the Empire, Reston’s successes lead to the war he promised his treacherous siblings. And because of the daemon injection, Verstael was indeed able to play the God he dreamed of becoming—his incubations successfully berthing adults into the world, capable of hosting daemons within.  
  
Briefing the Emperor on his father’s intensions and recent scientific advances, Prompto pledged himself to the Emperor; swearing to give his life to protect him— guaranteeing his sisters to lead his military into the front lines. By binding himself to the Emperor, Prompt became the first Guardian of Niflheim.  
  
The nation called for its citizens to service in a selective draft after its declaration of war against the scientist. The rate Verstael was producing Magetik soldiers proved to be at an alarming rate—outnumbering the Imperial Army 1,000 MTs to 1 Soldier. In many people’s eyes, the war was lost before it truly began. Some had even sided with the Magetik opponent—seeing as these progressions would save Niflheim citizens from being drafted or forced into mandatory service.  
  
A few dedicated themselves to the Imperial Army—double crossing into the Magitek Army to seek intelligence reports in hopes of defeating the enemy. Aranea, an ex-mercenary who proved to be a successful Lieutenant in the Niflheim military, specifically took the war to heart, seeing it as human lives were being bred and mindlessly enslaved. Daemonic or not, the authority should not be given.  
  
For three years, Niflheim was in ruins. Innocent civilians captured and killed if they opposed the Magetik Army. Some were taken into slavery for scientific studies—which ended most of them up being injected with the daemonic serum to increase their roster of soldiers. When this was discovered, Aldercapt sought for international aide to plan, attack, and wipe out the Magetik which stained his fallen nation. His mind worried endlessly for his neighboring nation, Tenebrae. Intelligence reports informing him of his enemy’s intent to cross the boarders and seize the country. Despite prior relations, the Imperial Emperor did not wish to see Queen Sylva Nox Fleuret ‘s land be swarmed by these monstrous pawns under Besithia’s control. At this rate, the scientist was willing to do anything and everything to demonstrate his power—using fear as a tactic to push opponents around. Not to mention his daughter, Tenebrae’s becoming Oracle, was also in line of danger.  
  
His own son, Ravus, was commanding a special forces unit on grounds. He and Aranea, who volunteered to be his spy, communicated with Prompto—devising plans and evasive movements to lay down a crippling strike on Verstael and his ranks. As well as Reston. The three of them, to include the strategic generals, advised the Emperor which maneuvers to execute as they forced their way into enemy lines.  
  
With their plan of attack ready for proposal, Iedolas Aldercapt sent a messenger to Insomnia—formally requesting King Regis Lucis Caelum to form an allegiance to defeat a threatening force before it became too late. Emperor Iedolas wished to see this war through and over before he died—an airborne disease he encountered when scouting the outskirt towns that had been attacked and burned. Illness was eating away at his body, his strength depleting as his efforts were exercised beyond measure. Understanding his position, Regis proclaimed his allegiance, supporting the Nilfheim Imperial army by whatever means possible.  
  
And they reigned in victorious. Despite the Magetik army’s efforts to disable the Lucian magical summoning of weapons, they quickly became outnumbered. With ‘The Immortal’ on their side—battalions were exterminated effortlessly. With his participation in a suicide mission with his allies to shut down the Magetik Central Core, a crystal which gave the MTs life, they could advance their plans to search and kill their prime targets—Verstael and Reston Besithia  
  
The Besithia children knew their psychotic father probably had some advanced weaponized creation hidden away in case he was somehow shut down in his operations. Whether it be his energy source or his death. The three of them breached the compound in search of the men responsible for this heinous war—giving strict orders to detonate the area no matter what within the hour of their approach.  
  
Stepping back into the building, their old home, shook each of them to their core. Watching the MT soldiers’ bodies disintegrate as the daemonic essence leaked through their orifices and metal armor was…disturbing. They were humans. Replicates of themselves yes, but…human beings no less—forced to house daemonic energy and spirits beyond the Six had designed them.  
  
Discovering their targets was indeed too convenient. They knew this was possibly a trap—walking right into their execution. But it was a sacrifice they had agreed to long ago—refusing to exchange ‘I love you’s and ‘good-bye’s, should either of them meet their end in by the hands of they once called family.  
  
As anticipated, Verstael in fact had a daemonic mutant. Mikah. This sick son of a bitch held on to the child’s corpse and resurrected him with yet another daemon injection once Reston’s success answered why Mikah’s failed. And over the 3 years they had been at war, Mikah, along with Reston, received enhanced serums to make them unstoppable. Olenna took on the mutant who once was her younger brother, while Ilyzbeth took on Reston—leaving Prom to their father. Verstael too grew ill—but rather being ridden with the same disease as Iedolas, the injections and essence had poisoned him; turning his skin black and changing the form of one of his limbs, like Mikah.  
  
The fight pushed their limits—digging deep several times to rise and not allow their escape. They would slay these _things_ to rest in Ifrit’s Inferno. Prompto could hear Olenna crying as she attacked her opponent—begging the mindless being to stop, to come to his senses. It took Ilyzbeth to yell at her to snap out of it, which cost her life when Reston took advantage of an opening she revealed by yelling at her.  
  
Swearing, Prompto continued to fight Verstael. He knew by the blood pouring of her mouth like a fountain, there was no possibility of saving her. Olenna, finding the courage to decapitate Mikah, ran over to Reston, throwing everything she had. Focusing on the fight at hand, Prompto guided Olenna, telling her not to let her passions fight for her. As much as she was a skilled fighter, she was still too young to manage her emotions in the heat of combat. By her labored breaths, he too, knew her fate if she didn’t pull it together. If he could just wear this bastard down and kill him, he can make it over to her. Just a little longer. It won’t take any more than—  
  
The _shik_ sound of a blade and gurgled choke reaches Prom’s ears. With a deadly blow to the elderly man’s head, Prompto whipped around, seeing Olenna and Reston at each other’s grip—the engine blade shining with crimson as it held the young girl like a skewer, and Olenna’s Ka-bar completely sheathed in the side of Reston’s neck. The weight of her body slid further down the neck of the wide sharpened steel, making her gasp as air is forced out of her lungs. Olenna murmurs something to her older brother before readjusting her grip on the knife, and using up all her strength to slit his throat—black ooze splattering and painting her face as Reston collapsed.  
  
Prompto sprint towards the girls who laid side by side one another, wanting to be by their side. Tears blurred Prompto’s vision as he held onto Olenna’s hand. Her entire torso was torn up, blood gushing and coating her in its stickiness.  He tucked her intestines back in, telling her she’ll be okay soon. That it’ll all be over before she knew it. That he would be there with her. Looking at his watch, the demolition team would be triggering the switches in 5 minutes.  
  
Olenna clawed at his vest, her breath shakily telling him to go, to leave them there. But he couldn’t. In a place like this? He’d die with his family. But an unexpected hand snakes up and holds his bicep weakly. Ilyzbeth looked at him, slow shallow breaths wheezing and gurgling. She strained her vocal cords to tell him to, “Go…vow…Empr…Ied…” Barely making out the words, Olenna grabbed him by collar, trying her best to throw him towards the exit, grunting at him to leave. 4 minutes left. Prompto walks back over to Verstael Besithia, aiming his handgun directly at the man’s crown, emptying his entire magazine with one pull of the trigger after another. Just before he walks out, he kisses their foreheads, thanking them, rather than sending them his farewells—Mikah and Reston too. Olenna holds Ilyzbeth’s hand as she watches her eldest brother jog out of the lab. Hearing her sister struggling to breathe, she cries— apologizing for leading her to her death before her chest falls for the last time. The young girls forced herself to stay awake, watching the timer countdown until the building should be blown to bits. 3 minutes. He could make it.  
  
The young Guardian ran for his life. Making his way through the maze structure, Prompto reached the outside, sprinting for his life to get to a safe distance before the explosion went off and make any potential damage to his body. His legs are burning, screaming for oxygen and rest. Then he hears it. The loud boom echoing through the snowy mountains. The flash of heat hitting his back. A few seconds more and he’s hit with the blast wave, knocking him flat on his face—landing on a rock, breaking his nose with an audible crack.  Ignoring the pain, he dares to look back at the blazing building, not so well hidden in the mountains now. Prompto sits, swallowing the bile in his throat as he watches the flames that burn the bodies inside, turning them into ash which float down like snow.


	2. Chapter One - Congregatione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After one year, it is time for His Majesties to come together once again in celebration of their treaty and victory in defeating Aegri Somnia. Emperor Ravis and King Noctis bond in their friendship, as their Guardian and Shield too officially make their introductions...in the most...unconventional sense.

Surviving Niflheim citizens sought refuge in the neighboring nation of Tenebrae in hopes to start brand new lives all together, thus relinquishing their acclaimed nationality. A select few were processed and approved to enter Accordo for a limited stay as refuges. But the most helpful of nations fell on the Lucian Empire—offering to deploy aide of all sorts: food, supplies, funding, and advisors to construct a recovery plan of the ruined land, on top of accepting fleeing citizens. For the remaining civilians, they were quick to line up for work—hoping to help rebuild their home in hopes of their families reuniting in their motherland.

King Regis Lucis Caelum vowed to Aldercapt on his death bed that the Lucian Empire and Niflheim will form a new treaty together, solidifying their alliances to each other. This promise shall carry over to their heirs who fall next to the throne. This oath was made, declared, and officiated under such circumstances of Iedolas’ declining health—but not too far ahead of Regis himself. Both successors, the Crowned Prince Noctis of Lucis and Prince Ravus of Niflheim, faced the approaching burden and responsibility of their nations in the palm of their hands.

 

One Year Later.

 

 _“All locations have been swept, all is a go. How copy over?”_ A voice channels through Prompto’s ear device.

“Thhaaat’s a good copy ‘ground floor’, all is a go, break…Sights on the Emperor locked, switching to ‘white’ channel, out.” He responds, clicking the device twice to link in with Emperor Ravus. Through the telescopic sight, the eagle-eyed Guardian follows Ravus as he takes casual strides up with Aranea to King Noctis, who awaits at the top of the famous castle steps to embrace him in a political greeting.

There’s press and a very large crowd of crowned citizens who gathered around to witness the welcoming ceremony. In recent news, a documentary had been filmed and broadcasted about The End of Aegri Somnia – the Niflheim Civil War instigated by the deranged military scientist Verstael Besithia, challenging the at the passed Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt. It had covered the war, the aftermath, and Niflheim’s recovery—as well as how Lucis greatly influenced and assisted in the recovery. All over televised broadcastings replayed Emperor Nox- Fleuret Aldercapt’s speech in remembrance of the war in its one-year anniversary. Reporters announced in their coverages how the two royals intended to celebrate in uniting their nations, and founded friendship.

 _“His Majesty,”_ Prom could hear Ravus greet in his usual proper accent. _“An honor it is to see you once again—and to welcome me into your home no less.”_ Ravus bows out of respect, followed by Aranea with a stiffness in her back.

 _“Emperor,”_ the King nods, _“thanks for accepting the invitation.”_ He replied so casually, earning a throat clearing from, who Prom assumes, his advisor by the way the young King looks over his shoulder to the man in glasses. Noct disregards the man, stepping down to meet Ravus in a formal handshake and one-armed embrace. Prom does not detect and sign of movement from the other royal removing any form of weaponry and refocuses on the two men once again.

The sniper didn’t need the ear piece to hear the number of cameras clicking and flashing away at the men—citizens cheering and screaming their loyalties to their King. Pulling away, they meet eye to eye. _“It’s good to have you.”_ Noct says, displaying a kind smile very few rarely saw. Seeing as the party is moving away from the crowd, Prompto reports to his lead ground security of his change of location.

 _Click, click, “ ‘Eagle’ to ‘ground’, change location from A to B, how copy over?”_ Prompto grabs his bag and picks up his rifle, sprinting across the building roof tops, hurtling over the small gaps between the structures.

_“ ‘Ground’ to ‘eagle’, that’s a good copy, over.” Click, click._

Sliding into position ass first, Prompto releases his bag and brings up his weapon as he gets on his belly, elbows propped to hold the rifle steady in order to get eyes on His Majesty. Seeing the staff trailing slowly behind the royal men, Prompto adjusts himself—legs spread, toes digging the leather boots into the rooftop, and unlatching the bi-pod to stabilize the front end of the barrel. Click, click, _“ ‘Eagle’ to ‘ground’, location B secured, how copy, over?”_

 _“ ‘Ground’ to ‘eagle’, good copy, over.” Click, click_ — _“—ow have you been?”_ Noct asks Ravus.

 _“Well thank you. Despite the awful reminder of why we recognize the end of…’Aegri Somnia’, my people continue to hold their heads high.”_ Ravus replies.

 _“Good…uh, I can’t help but notice that Aranea is only accompanying you. I coulda sworn you had a body guard?”_ Noctis comments. Ravus chuckles.

 _“Fear not. He’s very close by.”_ Ravus assures the younger royal.

 _“Uhh...where is he?”_ Ravus looks up, right at Prompto and smiles.

 _“Watching over me, so to speak.”_ He says simply, shrugging as if the matter is not a concern. Prompto overhears a snicker, and his eye notices the large scarred man visibly laughing.

“The fucks so funny asshole?” Prompto mutters to himself, waiting for some sort of response from anyone there. Both Noct and Ravus turn to see the guy laughing, giving confused looks to the man. The other man in the glasses seems uncomfortable, while Aranea seems amused—knowing the sniper was listening in as well as watching.

 _“Uh, Gladio? What’s so funny?”_ Noct asks.

 _“I—I’m sorry, your Majesty. I just—”_ this—this— _Gladio_ fucking guy shrugs, _“What kind of shield can protect their King if they are not at their right?”_ He asks. This question earns an exchanged amused brow between the Emperor and his advisor. They both knew just might what the Guardian might do next.

Prompto scoffs, “Hmph. Y’wanna see what I’m made of meat head? Alright.”

 _“Do stay still, dear Gladiolus.”_ Ravus advises, chuckling at the incredulous look on the man’s face.

Prompto sharply inhales a breath, very slowly exhaling as he zeroes in on his impossible-to-miss-target. Time seems to slow down for him in this millisecond of a moment. The middle of the pad of his pointer finger sits perfectly center on the metal trigger. He slowly squeezes, pulling the trigger, firing off a round, and the recoil of the weapon kicks gently into the dip of the shoulder socket.

The faint sound of a single shot came whirring as the speeding round came slicing through the air, perfectly aimed past both noblemen—only to perfectly graze the very fine surface of the shield’s right cheek; continuing to glide past him, and coming to a dead halt as it pierced the wall next to him.

Gladio jumps at the sound. “What the fuck!” he shouts. He looks up, down, and around to see where the noise came from. His eyes lands on something out of place in the metal trimmings on the wall. “The hell?” Looking closer, he sees what appears to be a…a bullet. Gladio whips around, looking up at the top of the buildings, eyes blazed with anger and veins in his neck popping out as he roared, “Alright y’little shit! Where’re ya?!”

“Can it Gladio. You deserved it.” Noct turns to Ravus, “Thank your sniper for putting my cheeky shield in check.”

“You can thank him yourself.” Ravus says with a smug smirk. Suddenly a bag drops immediately followed by Prom from the story above the group, landing on his feet— rifle slung on his back. He stands up straight, smiling as he eyes the shield.

“My pleasure ~ ” he says smoothly, peeling off his gloves, “your Majesty.” The blonde turns to Noct, giving a curt bow out of respect.

Gladio sneers as he overlooks the puny protector. The Emperor was taller than this pip-squeak. He didn’t look anything compared to himself of what one would think of a strong fighter, sworn to protect the Throne. “Why’re you in Lucian colors?” Gladio asks defensively.

Prom stills, looking at the man seriously. He stutters in his step to turn around to observe his surroundings. “Did you not see me?” he asks.

“What?” Gladio questions. Where was this asshole going with this strange, obvious question? “Of course not.”

“Exactly. Your impressive historical buildings are dark. Hence, the dark clothes. What kind of sniper would visibly place themselves as a bold target dressed in white? I’m sure even a person like you, with all that brawn, could understand that.”

“Why you little—” Gladio growls, who is subtly stopped with a gentle touch with the back of Ignis’ hand, who shakes his head for the large man not to pursue any further.

“Seems like I’m not the only one who can put you in you check, ay big guy?” Prom snarks, casually retreating to his Emperor’s side. Gladio’s nose wrinkles in irritated twitching. He watches the blond, maintaining eye contact—the foreigner presses in the device in his ear, quietly whispering over comms, looking sly as he winks at Gladio. This bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this official 'first chapter'. There will be more to come. At some point...


	3. Chapter Two - Duellum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that both guardsmen don't get on quite as well as their Kings' do. Tension is thick as they push each other's buttons. What better way to settle things between men, than a fight to determine who's best?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...In my world, there haaaaad to be at least one female shield.
> 
> Also, I bet Gladio wasn't expecting such spark from Prom. Has he met his match?

Both protectors trailed a few steps behind to their King’s side. Prompto to the left of Ravus, and Gladio to the right of Noct. Gladio held a displeased, sneered look on his face. He did  _ not _ like this kid, whatsoever. The scrawny little Niff fucker with his smart ass remarks and cocky attitude. As subtle as he could, Gladio strains his eyes to glance to the left of his peripheral vision. The kid walked with grace; his back straight, chin leveled, expression quite serious, hands behind him-- quite possible he had a small handgun tucked away underneath his coat in the waistband of his pants. Both young men paid no mind to their Majesties as they spoke, gliding down the incredibly long corridor to the conference room.

 

“Finally,” Noct sighed. “Here we are.” Noct reaches the door handle before the standing guards do, lightly smacking their hand away when they try to take over. Hauling the heavy door, Noct gestures Ravus in, “After you.” Prompto shuffles in with Ravus, quickly scanning the room before giving a quiet report back to his secondary lead man. Noct strides over to the long table, not aiming for his usual seat at the head of the table. “Please,” he knife hands at the opposing side of where he stands, “sit.” Aranea is quick to pull out the chair for her Emperor, tucking him in nicely once he’s seated, and is done for the same a few chairs down by Prompto. A servant girl walks in quickly, providing tea to all those at the table, and leaves her cart behind as she dismisses herself. Once everyone is settled, Gladio stations himself off to Noct’s right rear, just as Prompto does similarly.

 

“Great Six it’s hotter than Ifrit’s pits of Hell,” Ravus comments, tugging at the front of his high collar. The Lucian King could see a sheen of sweat coating the pale Emperor’s throat. 

 

“Sorry ’bout that. We can turn on the air, if you’d like?” Noct comments, looking over to Ignis to adjust the room’s thermostat.

 

“Quite alright,” Ravus says. “It’s much warmer here than the snowy tundra that is our home, Gralea. Our blood is probably thicker than syrup with how cold our country’s heart is.” He says jokingly. He looks over to his assistant to see if she was suffering under similar circumstances. With thin strands of hair wetly stuck to her temples, he looks behind him to see Prompto sweating bullets down his face. “Dear boy, do take off your coat and gloves. You’re sweltering!” Prompto gives a curt bow, removing his gloves and hat. After taking off his beanie, Prompto’s hair stuck straight up. Gladio couldn’t help but snort as the kid’s hair looked like that of the ass end of a chocobo. Prompto snaps his head up, eyes narrowing as he burns a hole right through the Shield’s dumb mug.

 

“Something funny, Mullet?” Prom snarks, knowing exactly what the bigger man was laughing at. The question instantly wipes the smile off Gladio’s face. Wrinkling his nose once again, he growls, taking half a step forward before the back of Noct’s hand taps him in the gut.   
  
“Behave, Gladio.” He murmurs in a warning tone. Returning back to his position, Gladio stares at Prom snicker at him as he wipes his forehead. “You okay there? Prompto, was it? Need something to keep you cool?” Noct offers.

 

“Ah,” Prom chuckles, “N-no your Majesty. Thank you, but I’m fine.”

 

Noct nods, “Alright. Well, let’s get started.”

 

For the next few hours, both men discuss the economic improvement of Niflheim. Ravus goes in depth of the scientific and mechanical discoveries obtained from the labs which Prompto and his small elite team infiltrated a year ago. With the findings, both countries scientists’ have worked side by side in finding cures to disease, robotic prosthetics, advanced technologies and mechanics, daemon cell structures, and improved weaponry. “From the progression of these studies, all of Eos can benefit from these enhancements. As well as Niflheim repaying its debt to Lucis.” Ravus says. He takes a moment to look down at his hands resting in his lap. “We are...eternally grateful for what you and King Regis have done for us. I know historically we have not been so kind to each other in the past however, I truly am relieved that’s what it is, and what it will remain forever. The past.”

 

King Noctis is unsure of what to say. Yes, tension between nations has been present for centuries, and most Lucian citizens feared the peace treaty was a set up for something sinister. Like an pending internal attack of some sort. Orders had been established for refugees to not be harassed or discriminated against during the war.

 

“Ravus...despite what our father’s before us did, and despite how and why we came together, I sure as hell am relieved we’re at this point. Just need to keep it that way. For the sake of our people.”   
  
“Agreed.” Ravus says with a soft smile.   
  
“Well,” Noct sighs, shifting in his seat awkwardly, “I dunno about you, but I sure as hell am starving. Care to join me?”   
  
“I too am quite famished.” Ravus says as he plucks an small ball of lint on his long buttoned coat.   
  
“Well then let’s get outta here.” Noct says, motioning to the standing guards to open the doors. “I believe Ignis here created the menu himself. Practically had to drag him out of the kitchen before you guys arrived.” He looks over his shoulder and winks at Ignis, who pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, choosing not to comment on the King’s exaggerated statement. Noct walks beside Ravus, throwing his arm around the taller man’s shoulder, pulling him in closely like they childhood friends do in their youth when walking home from school. As they leave, both Prompto and Gladio bump into each other trying to exit at the same time. Gladio shoulders Prom on purpose into the the frame.   
  
“Watch it pipsqueak.” Gladio says in a rumbled tone.   
  
As quick as his name promised him to be, Prompto stick his foot in front of Gladio, who trips over and staggers a bit. Prom has a playful smirk on his lips as Gladio looks back, gritting his teeth in annoyance. “Watch your step big fella.” the blond retorts, slipping away in an instant. Behind them, Aranea chuckles into the backs of her fingers, looking over to Ignis to see if he too had seen what she had witnessed. He simply opens his notes to realign some loose papers as he curls his lips inward to prevent himself from smiling.

 

Prompto checked in with his men over his ear piece as Ravus and Noct ate to ensure everyone on this visit was doing fine. The last thing he wanted was a Soldier to pass out from the Lucian spring heat-- despite their ‘lightweight’ uniforms designed for such climates.  _ “All guards around the perimeter have been rotated for hydration and rest period according to the work, rest cycle within our heat index.”  _ Prompto heard. “Roger. Keep me updated if you need anything. Be sure to link up the Glaive Marshall, Cor Leonis for temporary barrack assignment for everyone. Out.” He went to his men standing guard outside the dining room to send them off and returned to his post at the entrance beside Gladio. They both remain quiet, watching their Kings eat together, engaging in casual conversation as friends. Gladio pondered the idea of befriending the Nif beside him. The thought was laughable. They were complete opposites.   
  
“You gotta shit or something?”

 

Gladio looks over to where he heard the voice, clearly confused as to what exactly he had heard. “What?”

 

Prompto is looking at him, amused. “You look uncomfortable there pal. Wasn’t sure if you need to shit or what with how hard you were concentrating there.” he says laughing.

 

“How ‘bout you shut the fuck up and do your job n’ quit looking at me.” Gladio growls through his teeth.

 

Prompto rolls his eyes, turning his head straight ahead. “Not my fault you got a face I wanna sit on.” he says quietly, but loud enough for the other to hear.   
  
“Wh--what did you say?” Gladio asks, turning his body towards him. “The fuck you just say?” he says louder for all to hear, which only naturally captures the Royals attention.

 

“What’s goin’ on over there?” Noct asks, slightly nervous. He didn’t like the way his Shield sounded just now. It clearly meant that the other Royal guard was in for something he would regret taunting to get a taste of.   
  
“Prompto,” Ravus says in a half croon half scolding tone, “are you behaving yourself? Hm? Quit playing with the man. If you so wish to do so, do it properly. The  _ Imperial _ way.”

 

Noctis ‘ohs’. “What’s the Imperial way? Sounds like a challenge Gladio will dive into blindly.”

 

“Well...In our army, if one has a quarrel with another, we duel.” Ravus reveals. “Prompto seems... _ interested _ in your Shield. With the taunting and all, I’m sure he’s aching to go several rounds with your brute.” he chuckles, to which Noct smiles.   
  
“Sounds like something right up his alley.” Noct hums. “Whaddya say Gladio? You wanna rumble with Prompto here?”

 

Gladio isn’t one to back down from a challenge. And from what he gathers, he can take on the little blond no problem. It wouldn’t even be an even fight. But he didn’t care. He’s been wanting to hurt the little shit since he took a shot at him earlier. “You Goddamn right I do,” Gladio answers, accepting the challenge. “How bout it blondie? Think you can handle it?” All Prom does is smirk as he eyes Gladio up and down, licking his lips.   
  
The bigger man truly did not know what he had in store for him. And it came in the form of Niflheim’s most elite Soldier; Prompto Argentum.

  
  
  


In the training hall, Noct called for an audience of his Glaives and the Niflheim Soldiers to spectate and enjoy this unexpected event between both sworn guards. He personally felt this would be entertaining for all to watch. “Alright boys. What’ll it be? Swords? Grappling? Free for all?” King Noctis asks the crowd. Cheering from the crowd roared as people casted their vote as loudly as their vocals could shout. Listening to the men and women shout over each other, Noct looks to Ravus. “Anything you wanna see in particular Ravus?”

 

The Emperor strokes his chin. “Hmm. I don’t think there’s anything Prompto can’t handle.” he says confidently. Seeing as the afternoon’s entertainment fell on the host, Noct raises his hand to settle down the audience.   
  
“Since I’ve been told that the Guardian is a well rounded fighter, I will take one skill set away from him. Prompto, if you could please hand over your weapons to Aranea.” Prompto walks over to this assistant and pulls his rifle off his back. Prom double checks his weapon is on safe before he releases the magazine and pulls back the charging handle to release a round inside its chamber. Locking the bolt back in place, he peers inside it to ensure the chamber was clear. Handing it over, Prompto pulls out the revolver he had stowed away in his lower back, as Gladio had suspected. Extracting the bullets out, he hands the hand gun over, declaring he has relinquished all firearms over. Making an about face, he returns to Gladio’s side, facing their Kings. “Now...let’s make it clear that this is for sport. For fun. There will be one rule, and one rule only. Do not cause each other bodily harm. The moment either of you get carried away with head blows to cause concussions, or need a blood transfusion from excessive stabbing, I’m cracking skulls. Whoever yields first will automatically lose, and the other will be declared the winner winner chicken dinner. If either of use say ‘enough’, the match will end. Got it?” Nodding, Noct instructs them to part and prepare to fight.

 

Heading to his end of the hall, Gladio takes off his Crownsguard jacket, earning ‘ooh’s and ‘ah’s from around the room as his rippling muscles are revealed. “Do mind your temper, Gladio.” Ignis warns. “Remember your training, an--”   
  
“Y’really think Imma let chocobo butt over there get the best of me?” Gladio huffs an amused laugh. “Not a fucking chance.”   
  
“I’m afraid he already has.” Ignis quips back, earning a glare from the Shield, which he doesn’t back down from. Gladio raises a brow and looks over his shoulder to the pale blond talking to Aranea. Probably getting a similar pep talk. And he too, turns to look back and smiles, earning a smack to pay attention to what the woman had to say. Facing Ignis again, he peels his tank top off and hands it to him; revealing his entire body tattoo and the heinous scar on his chest. He turns around to face his opponent, who’s stands ready for him with dual swords. He seemed to have just downgraded his jacket, wearing a tank top he had underneath. But even so, the kid had well sculpted arms. For being as small as he was, Gladio could give him half that credit.

 

Gladio is the first to take a step forward, walking towards the center, Prompto immediately following suit. In the middle stood Clarus Amicitia, the ‘referee’ of this match. Clarus recited what his King announced just moments ago as a reminder to the guardsmen. Gladio towered over Prompto, looking down at him. But this did not discourage or intimidate Prompto in the slightest. He held his chin high, smiling at the other. His eyes were narrowed and cold, looking back at the burning rage in the whiskey eyes. Gladio watched him look over his face. At the scars.   
  
“Take your stances.” Clarus instructs, getting in between the men to cease their intimidating stare down. Being shoved back by his father, Gladio flicks his hand open, summoning his Genji Blade.

 

“Neat lil’ trick y’got there.” Prom says, twirling his swords once. “Bet you got a whole collection stored away in your little armiger. Bet I can disarm ‘em all.” he taunts.

 

“Like t’see you try chocobo.” Gladio challenges, resting the width of the blade against the front of his shoulder.

 

“Mmm. I do like me a challenge. Doesn’t help that your abs are distracting.” he winks, biting his lower lip. A few knowing Soldiers whoop in the crowd at his antics.

 

“Cut the shit Argentum. This’ll be over quick.” Gladio replies, placing his strong left leg back to take his stance.   
  
“Mm, you’re right about that,” the blond replies, tilting his head as he takes a note on Gladio’s favored power leg. He looks back up, he too taking a left stance, swords up and a sly grin, “I’ll be wiping the floor with ya.”

 

The leather bound handles on the men’s weapons of choice creaked as they tightened their grip, waiting for the command to commence fighting. The air in the room thickened as everyone waited for the King to nod to Clarus. After what felt like a lifetime, Noct gives a small nod to the retired Shield.   
  
The moment the older man yelled, the room exploded in cheers as the metal of the blades made contact-- Gladio swinging first, and Prompto blocking the attack. Shoving the bigger man off, Prompto took advantage of an open spot, extending his left arm towards Gladio’s right oblique. The Shield barely shifts in time to avoid making contact with the sharp end of the blade. But the Nif doesn’t stop. He attacks, and attacks, and attacks; looking for every opportunity to find an opening and the bigger man tries desperately to keep up and prevent one of two blades from penetrating his skin. As he’s being walked back to the end of the training floor, the crowd jumps out of the way to make room. Gladio realizes he’s about to be pinned against the wall. Side stepping the next blow, Gladio manages to slam the smaller man against it, doing his damnedest to drive his blade down near the Nif’s throat, a thin layer of sweat glistening against it.

 

Prom doesn’t stray his sight off Gladio. The bastard was powerful, that much was obvious. But he wasn’t going to let that get to him. He wasn’t going to let the samurai like sword to touch him. “Nice move,” Prom compliments. He uses the strength in his core to lean forward, pushing off the wall with ease. He smiles at the way Gladio seems to be take aback by it. And even more so when the blond leans in to whisper in his ear. “Looking forward to you doing it again when you fuck me.” he purrs. Gladio grunts as he slides and shoves Prompto away from him, completely thrown off by the comment. Of course the Guardian steadies himself instantly once he’s freed. “What’s up big guy? Can’t handle a little dirty talk?” he chuckles, letting his guard down in a relaxed state. “Come at me bro.” he taunts once more, gesturing the tip of his right sword to step forward.

 

Both hands hike up higher on the neck of the handle, and Gladio yells as he swings. Prompto blocks it easily, and guides the weapon away from him entirely; disarming the Shield. Before Gladio could look to see where his prized possession flew into the crowd or even look back to the person who caused it, Prompto tucks his blade against his forearm, gripping it tightly as his pulls his arm back and launches it forward; his fist connecting to Gladio’s cheek. A mixture of cheers and ‘aw’s roar from the Nif’s punch. Proud of making contact, Prom backs up, cocky smile spread wide across his face. Gladio rubs his cheek, taking note that the little shit packed a mean straight. Irritated, Gladio summons yet another weapon, not even attempting to dive in the rows of people to look for the disarmed one. He clenches his jaw watching the younger male open his arms, offering a clear opening. 

 

With a new weapon in hand, Gladio walks his way to the center. “You gonna keep running away or you gonna fight like a man?”   
  
“I was wondering the same thing.” Prompto quips back.

 

“You little--” Gladio lunges forward, roaring as he sliced the heavy blade through the air. He works his body to be quick, aiming for deadly blows. This time, Gladio’s greatsword is heavy enough to make Prom lose his grip on one sword, abandoning it temporarily to assist his other hand to keep strength against the blade as his feet slide over the waxy floor. Grunting and yelling with a push, Prom moves the heavy metal out of his way, diving and rolling to arm himself again. His stance is low now, analyzing the Shield for some sort of weakness. The Lucian had thick legs. Large legs meant a greater control for their center of gravity, making it harder to knock ‘em down.

 

Noct and Ravus share an amused look as they watch their boys fight each other. The strong metals clinking and clanking, the savage excitement of those watching around the training floor-- Noct watching his “Blademaster Survivor” fall for every baited move from the Niflheim Guardian was pure entertainment for him. He viewed it as getting bested by someone who wasn’t a part of the Royal Ranks. “Your boy is holding up nicely.” Noct says casually.   
  
“Mn, yes. He’s quite talented. He personally trained our elite squadrons. He says he hasn’t found anyone worthy enough to be my future heir’s Guardian yet. But, if they’re trained by his hand, they’re more than skilled enough for the job.”   
  
“That’s right, you guys don’t have a family lineage like the Amicitia’s who serve you, right?”   
  
“Correct. Our fathers only head Generals and such who walked alongside them. Nothing more. Although,” Ravus says curiously, “That must be quite interesting. How does an Amicitia choose one to produce the next heir?”

 

“Well, from what I know, the first born is the Shield to the next King of Lucis. So Clarus was my Father’s Shield. When my father died, Clarus’ duties were relieved by his son, Gladio. Now, he has a sister-- if he were to die protecting me, she would step up to her duty to me, as well as have an heir to carry the name.”   
  
“So--” Ravus jumps in. “The female Amicitia’s...they carry on the family name if they’re the only born or...?”   
  
“Yeah. There was only one female Shield ever in our history. Her...uh...gentleman caller, or whatever, basically couldn’t claim the kid under his family name.”   
  
“I see…” Ravus drawls.   
  
“But yeah. Gladio will have to have an heir to protect mine...when I have one...way, way, waaay later in life.”

 

Ravus chuckles and returns to the fight. He and Noct both must have missed something because the crowd is roaring as Gladio disarmed yet again.

 

“Fuck!” Gladio roared, dodging the sharp ends Prompto mercilessly tossed at him. Both men were dripping in sweat, huffing and refusing to show tired signs. Prompto yells as he moves in a blur to gain advantage. However, Gladio sees an opportunity, and takes it. Gladio perfectly times his lunges at the smaller male, running into Prompto’s stomach to pin him on the ground. Having the air knocked out of him, Prom’s back impacts that floor, banging the back of his head on the granite, completely dropping his swords. Not to mention his sheathed machete strapped to his lower back digging into the knobs of his spine. Gladio restrains Prom, a bear like grip on his thin wrists. The Shield hikes his hips high, resting nearly all of his weight on the other’s pelvis, making it difficult to move. “Heh, whatchya gonna do now?” Gladio prompts. Prom kicks his legs, trying his best to shimmy and inch or two under Gladio.

 

Sighing in what seemed like defeat, he stops squirming, earning angry yelling from his subordinates. “Heh, well,” he takes a deep breath, “if I’m being perfectly honest, I wish I had you between my legs and balls deep inside me. But if you wanna top from the bottom, that’s fine too.” Prom lifts his legs high enough to cross them in front of Gladio’s broad chest, pulling him down and losing his balance. Gladio’s thick skull hits the floor too, and Prom’s brain yells at his legs to  _ move _ . Prom feels slow and sluggish as he tries to mount the larger man, and secure an arm, managing an arm bar. 

 

The pain surges through Gladio. He bring his other arm to squeeze the Nif’s inner and outter quad just above the knee-- the nerves are sensitive to all hell, and will surely make him loosen up. Prom grunts as he flexes harder to fight through the ticklish like pain the other man was causing. “Y’fuckin’  _ cheater! _ ”he yells, risking the secured position by bashing his boney knuckles against the back of Gladio’s large hand. Gladio manages to roll over against the blond’s strong legs, bringing his knees and feet under him to stand. Prompto let’s go, in fear of being slammed down. Landing on his side, Prom sweeps Gladio’s leg, making him fall once more. But just as he mounted him, Gladio flipped him over. Prompto fought with all his might to push him off and crawl away. Now on his belly, Gladio draped himself over Prompto. Both out of breath, Gladio simply keeps Prom in place. “That all y’got?” the Nif grunts, wiggling again. “Hope you’re not a minute man in the sheets with all that heavy ass breathing.”   
  
“Shut the  _ fuck _ up.” Gladio grunts, using his elbow to hit Prom in the temple.

 

The blond laughs. “What? Hit a nerve? Eh. ‘M sure you fuck like you fight.” Prom takes a deep breath before he’s able to bring his arms inside and under his stomach, arching a bit against the Lucian. “Mm, oh yeah. Very promising indeed.” he whispers, grinding his ass against Gladio’s crotch. Choosing to ignore what the other had just done, Gladio chokes back a series of grunts as the Nif drives his pointy ass elbow into his ribs. Seeing as it wasn’t working, Prom thought there wouldn’t be any harm in playing dirty, right? A loud crack like sound is heard, and the grimace expression are made by the crowd. The Guardian had slammed the back of his already throbbing head directly on the Shields nose. Finally released, Prom scurries free, pulling his machete out from behind him. Gladio’s eyes tear instantly, blurring his vision. He’s able to make out his opponent fast approaching, and summons yet another broadsword.

 

“Oh for God’s sake,” Ignis sighs, “Gladio I’ve  _ told _ you time, and time again...but do you ever listen?” he mutters under his breath. Aranea snickers, “Him too huh?” She shakes her head. “I dunno how many times I’ve told that kid to calm down. Always feels like he has to prove something.”   
  
“As does Gladiolus.” Ignis sighs.

 

“They’re like two peas in a pod.” Aranea says, earning an agreeable hum from the Lucian Retainer. “Hate to break it to you but, I’m sure Pom Pom has his eyes and ass set for muscle head. The whole reason he’s giving him such a hard time.”   
  
“Mn, I gathered...only, Gladio, I’m afraid, is too blind to see it.”   
  
“Ah...is he uh...ya know…”   
  
“To be quite honest I’m not sure. Gladio is...interesting, to say the least. I personally think your Emperor’s Guardian is well suited for someone like him. A challenge, witty, quick on his feet...impossibly fearless.”

 

“Seems like they fancy the same type. Only, they all have to have dicks between the legs for Prom to he choke on.” Ignis chokes, covering his mouth as he laughs with Aranea.

  
  


It feels like a strength contest between the men-- who hand push back harder, or hold a block longer. The muscles in their arms shake as they drive their weight into their weapons. Prom internally swells with pride seeing the man before him bleed and looks visibly broken down. “Still not gonna yield?” he asks Gladio. Working his broadsword against the black metal machete, Gladio tries to move to break from their current position.   
  
“Gladio! Quit fucking around and finish this!” Cor yells from the sidelines. Clarus remains silent as he watches from a distance, mentally telling his son to quit dancing around.

 

“Hm. Maybe I should’ve challenged Cor ‘The Immortal’. Maybe he puts up a better fight than what you claim to be doing.” Prom whispers. He stretches his neck directly above where the blades cross. “Bet a real man like that can out do you any time.” The comment is enough to spark another flame in Gladio, only he grabs a hold of Prom’s machete and tosses both weapons aside, arms stretched up and hand grabbing for the Guardian’s throat. Prom copies the move, using both hands to fully wrap around the man’s thick neck. They gradually tighten their grip, trying to make the other pass out due to lack of circulation. “There it is,” Prom rasps. “That’s what I’ve been looking for...agh-- c’mon, harder.” Obeying, Gladio tightens his grip, feeling the humming vibrations in Prompto’s throat. He could’ve  _ sworn  _ he heard him moan. But he wouldn’t know. The room grew dark they slumped to the floor together.

  
Gasping for a breath of air, Gladio shoots up, wide awake and ready to continue the fight. But it’s long over. He looks around frantically, seeing his opponent sitting on the floor with one leg tucked under him and the other straight out, rubbing the back of his neck. No. There was--there was no way! “Wh-who won?” he asks, looking for his father. Who, by the way, looks like he doesn’t want to tell his own son the result of the brawl. “Well, considering you both passed out, it’s a draw.” Noct announces. “Buuuuut...since Prom woke up first…”   
  
“No. N-no fucking way, I wanna rematch.” Gladio demands, fixing to stand up.   
  
Prom looks up from where he sits, admiring the man’s large frame. Once their eyes meet, Prom smiles kindly. “Don’t worry. You’ll get a rematch.” he says, groaning as he stands up. He walks over towards the exit, stopping short next to Gladio. “Later…” he says in a sensual tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Gladio and Prom have their rematch? Or will Gladio face a challenge he's not too sure he can take on?


	4. Chapter Three - Blanditia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will both Guardian and Shield reconcile their differences after a rocky introduction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *one eternity later*
> 
> *drops chapter*
> 
> *slaps slight dubious consent*

Gladio had been miffed for the rest of the day. He was Gladio fucking Amicitia. He had never lost a fight to anyone. And to _tie_ to a damn _Niff?_ Ignis told him on numerous occasions to stop brooding and looking murderous for he was scaring the regular staff. To which of course, Gladio growled and murmured to himself for Ignis to piss off. It didn’t help that the Guardian was nothing but smiles and a peppy little shit. The night seemed to have lasted forever -- and it didn’t help that his Majesty and his royal guest were sitting back and shooting the shit like they’d grown up together, further fueling Gladio’s annoyance. The Shield knew he was being a poor sport, childish and unreasonable. But that Prompto kid really rubbed him the wrong way. And he was just that - a Gods damn kid. An enemy. Through and through.

 

Seeing as it was getting late in the hour, Noct walks Ravus down to his own private chambers, where he would be staying in the palace. Gladio overhears Prompto mumbling into his mic set to initiate a shift change to guard the Emperor. The young protector held the role of what Gladio did, and the duties Cor fulfilled as well. It appeared to be if something wasn’t executed perfectly, he was cracking skulls in reprimand for other’s fuck ups.

 

“Well Emperor, here’s your stop. I’m sure you’ll find the room more than accommodating, as my advisor would say.” Noct says. Ignis had taken the liberty in escorting Miss Highwind to her own private chambers.

 

“I do thank you again. I believe we’re running on schedule together, are we not?” The two men review and discuss tomorrow’s plans, a bunch of noise Gladio has learned to tune out. He notices two new faces standing in the hall, standing as tall and still as ancient armored knights. It humored Gladio a bit to see two soldiers, a few heads taller than Prompto, being barked orders from a short stack like him. And was that-- Niflheim, he was speaking? A sharp word from the blond and the two soldiers huffed over to either side of the entryway of the Emperor’s chambers. In unison, the Soldiers take their post, their weapons at port arms. “Mn, yes, very well then. I shall see you at breakfast then. I bid you goodnight, King Noctis.”

 

“Likewise, Emperor.” Ravus turns to enter his room, pausing a moment to take the sleeve of his coat and brush off what he believed was a speck on his Soldier’s armor. Shutting the door, Prompto gives a piercing glare at the Soldiers, as if conveying to behave and stay alert. “Say Prompto,” Noct calls out to the Guardian. “Cor mentioned something about you wanting to be near your men, right? As far as quarters are concerned.”

 

“Ah, yes your Majesty,” Prom says brightly, smile and all, “that’s correct.”

 

“Well, I’m headed to bed. Told Iggy I wouldn’t be long and well,” he pulls back his overly dressed robe sleeve to look at his watch, “I’ve broken that promise by almost an hour.” He turns over to Gladio, “Walk him to the barracks. He’s to have the spare Marshall suite for the remainder of his stay.” Gladio must’ve given a look of displeasure because suddenly his King reminds him of the Niff’s ranking. “You can handle that, right?”

“Of course, your Majesty.” Gladio grits, doing his best not to growl.

 

“Good.” Noct chirps with a tight smile. “Prompto.” He nods his head in a short bow and turns down the hall. Prom bows lowly, not caring if the King had seen it or not, it was customary. Straightening up, Prom looks down the empty corridor for only a moment before turning to his guide.

 

“So I already have the layout of this place memorized, you don’t need to walk me back.” Prom informs Gladio, to which he snorts, rolling his eyes.  
  
“As if I’d let you walk around these parts by yourself. Let’s go blondie.” Prompto seemed all too happy to have Gladio walk with him. It was annoying the Shield to his last nerve. But he knew it was because he was still feeling raw about their duel. And introduction.

 

As they strode down the empty, Gladio could feel a hole being burned into the side of his face. He didn't need to look over to know Prom was smiling at him, thinking Gods know what.

 

Prom on the other hand didn't care he was staring directly at the Shield. Creepy, annoying, rude, whatever people would say, he needed to relax in this new environment. And keep his hand off his side arm.

 

Walking out into the backcourt, Prom could hear the distant talks of the Lucian Glaives-- cackling with laughter, shouts of profanities, low blow jokes, and talks of steins of mead to end the exhausting day. As they topped the hill, they could see congregations of men and women shooting the shit. Prompto could see some of his own Soldiers getting on with the Glaives. Which seemed to rub Gladio the wrong way. “The hell is this?” He growled.

 

“Oh relaaaax big guy,” Prom says, patting Gladio's shoulder. They walk through the crowds of their people, Prom telling his people to remain at ease and relax. Gladio eyed the way some of the Glaives were getting on with the Niflheim Soldiers-- relying on a select few to translate and converse, sharing all sorts of stories together. “It's the top floor right?” Prom shouts over his shoulder, taking two steps at a time to make his ascent.

 

Gladio cursed the Gods for this bastard taking the stairs instead of the fucking elevator. To have this kid's ass in his face the entire time because the same asshole wouldn't let him move past, was distracting. To think the Niflheim Guardian dared to push that against him was-- out of nowhere. Well, maybe not of nowhere; Gladio knew the kid was probably interested. Or messing with him. But it was nonetheless unexpected. Rules or not, it was just wrong, man.

 

And of course as they climbed the endless flights of stairs, a few Soldiers were hanging around the railings, watching them make their way up. A few looked at Gladio up and down shamelessly before winking at their Commander. Someone jokingly called out if they were going to have their rematch in the bedroom, which Prompto playfully ordered them to a half right face and into the starting position of push-ups.

 

Finally, they reach the 50th fucking floor.

 

While Gladio did his best not to look like he was out of breath, Prompto happily hummed as he strode down the end of the hall to his quarters. Breaking out his issued key, Prom opens and enters his temporary living space. He whistles loudly, impressed, leaving the door wide open for Gladio. “These are some sweet digs,” he says looking around. He walks over to a table that catches his interest. Opening it's small doors, he snorts. “Oh wow. You Lucians spare no expense, huh?” He takes out a heavy crystal bottle filled with amber liquor. Prompto pulls the stopper from the top, sniffing the aromas of it's contents. “Oh that's nice.” He says, looking up at Gladio, who remains standing at the entrance. “Want some?” He offers, hopping up and placing the bottle on the bar to fish out some glasses.

 

“Um, n--”

 

“Oh c’mon! It's just a drink dude.” Prom insists before Gladio can even decline. “This of this as a peace offering between the two of us.” Prom says as he pours two ice filled glasses. Swirling around he walks right over to Gladio with the glass in hand. “Go on. Take it.”

 

Eying the drink, then back up to the blond, Gladio takes it.

 

“There ya go. Knew you had to be thirsty after climbing all them steps with me.”

 

Entering the room some more, Gladio hears the door shut. Looking around from this position, their Niflheim guest did indeed have it made in the spare Marshall suite. And the Guardian certainly didn't mind making himself at home; he plopped into the plush couch and settled into it as deeply as he could. He blows out a breath of air before taking a long sip. “Fuck that's good.” Prom hisses, slurring back his spit. Flicking his eyes up, Prom licks his lips, “You alright there big guy?”

 

Gladio shifts in place and looks down into his glass, feeling a bit awkward. He swirls the golden liquor in the Tumblr and shakes his head. “ 'M good.” He replies deeply.

 

Prompto rocks forward, placing his glass on the coffee table before standing up. “Don't seem good.” He takes small and slow steps towards the large man, putting his hands in his back pockets. Closing in the man's space, he leans against the wall, “Y’seem tense.” The blond Guardian says softly.

 

This time, Gladio looks up at Prom through his dark lashes, just staring-- as if he were contemplating what to say. “Said 'M fine, Argentum.” He mumbles.

 

“Oh yeah?” Prom questions with a cocked brow. “Got a funny way of showing it.”

 

Gladio sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes as he straightens up, “You don't know anything about me.” he sighs.

 

“Yeah we oughta change that.” Prom says suggestively as he bites the corner of his bottom lip, which catches Gladio's attention; as well as the way he leans in close. “Whaddya say Amicitia?” He dares to touch Gladio's dress jacket, running his hand down over the carefully polished buttons. “Unwind and get to know each other.” He focused on one set and pops one button off. “Oops...”

 

“This your way of getting to know each other?”

 

“Hn, considering you're not stopping me, I guess it's a way you don't mind.”

 

 _Damn_ him.

 

Prom slowly rises to the tips of his toes, brushing his lips over the other's. “Does this bother you?” He asks, popping another set of buttons off. “I can stop.”

 

 _Don't,_ was what Gladio thought, against his higher pride and ego of how many levels of wrong this was. They both flirted with, crossed, and tread over the lines of international affairs. Not saying anything, Prompto continued further with a kiss. Head tilted, mouth a bit open and the tip of his tongue out, Gladio could taste the fine aged Lucian whiskey. While Prompto tasted the inside of Gladio's mouth, his hand continued to open the Shield’s dress coat. Lips rolling off each other, Prompto pulls away, for only Gladio to capture his bottom lip between his teeth. The young Guardian hums and gives a playful lick. Finally free and smacking his lips in satisfaction, Prompto is certainly pleased in Gladio's response. “Mn, just as I imagined.” He eyes flick down to see both flaps of the jacket reveal the Lucians perfect chest. The contrast of his own pale hand against bronzed skin was...different. Exciting. There weren't any men who looked like Gladio in his home country. Just a few like Ignis but, not write to Prom’s taste. He leans in to kiss the scar on Gladio's chest, moving over for his tongue to trace the dark nipple.

 

Gladio grabs the back of Prom's head with a fistfull of yellow locks and yanks him back to look at the blond. Did he want him to stop? Or did he want more control of the situation? He dives in for a hungry kiss, turning Prom into the wall and pinning him there with his body. Blindly stretching his arm out to put the glass down, Gladio snakes one hand up to Prom’s delicate throat. “This somethin’ you imagined too?” To be fair, this wasn't something Gladio pictured himself getting into so easily with anyone. Being taunted and seduced as such. With a _Niff_ no less...

 

Humming, Prompto holds onto Gladio's biceps, biting his grinning bottom lip, “Almost,” he says honestly. “You were rougher in our scrap earlier. That's more up my alley.”

 

“Is that so?” Gladio asks deeply. He hikes up his hand and tightens his grip, making Prom look up at him towering over, adoring the slow red flush creeping up his face. He could feel the vibrations of the Guardian humming in approval. Gladio was learning more about Prompto than intended.

 

“Don't get shy on me now, Amicitia.” Prom managed to say. Swallowing hard, Prom takes a steady breath, “Take out that frustration on me. Use me.”

 

In all honesty, Gladio never had an intense sexual encounter like this one. He knew his own strength and remembered the times to be gentle with his partners. But this was the opposite. Prompto was very up front, blunt, and knew exactly what he wanted. And he seemed to know exactly what Gladio needed, presenting a win-win situation.

 

In an instant Gladio turned Prom around and slammed him against the wall, crotch pressed up against that plush ass. He nearly knocked the wind out of Prom, but the blond loved the surprise. “There we go,” he purred. “That's more like it.”

 

“Shut the fuck up.” he says in a deep voice with no meaning behind it.

 

“Mn, yes Sir.”

 

Hearing that stirred something deep inside Gladio. Just how far with could he go with this? He grabs the black jacket roughly, yanking it off with no grace. He wanted to get his hands on that pale skin. He wanted to see just how much of his own big dark calloused hands could envelope the smaller frame. Argentum was a little guy, but fuck he was strong. The reminder made Gladio's cock twitch and swell.

 

Prom gasps and shudders when he feels Gladio's scratchy beard and hot mouth latch on to the side of his neck. The sharp drag of teeth sends chills down his spine, and a moan slips out. He works the rest of his jacket off, hoping to be surrounded by the big brute of the legendary Amicitia. He reached back and over, his fingers slipped in the surprisingly soft dark brown tresses, caressing the back of Gladio's head for more. He even seeks for a kiss when turning his head even further, getting exactly what he silently asked for. This time, Prom grabs the open coat and uses it to throw Gladio against the wall to trade places. He slides down to his knees all the while looking right into those darkening honey eyes. Smiling mischievously, Prom unfastens Gladio’s dress pants, not at all fazed by the sheer size of Gladio’s hardening length. A few strokes and kisses will sure stiffen the Shield right up.

 

And he does so shamelessly.

 

Gladio flinches at the warmth of Prompto’s mouth. Despite his past experiences, this was fucking amazing. It may have been because it had been a while for the young Amicitia, but shit this kid was something else. He didn’t even bother to work himself up to take his length; he just straight up swallowed him whole like a seasoned whore. Gladio just watches him bob his head, feeling the way he tightens his mouth around him, listening to the sloppy wet sounds coming from the man below him. The way those bright pink lips stood against his own dark cock was sensual in its own way. Gladio especially appreciated the way Prompto gently tugged playfully at his foreskin with his pearly whites.

 

Hissing back the spit, Prom smacks his lips as if he just had something delicious. “How ya feelin’ big guy?” he asks, only receiving a nod from the man above, to which he giggles in return. “That good huh?” he teases, now firmly stroking Gladio with a calloused hand. He honestly felt like he was learning a lot about the Amicitia. Maybe not in the most conventional setting but...let's be honest, this was better. Chasing someone else’s pleasure and being in control of it was exhilarating for Prompto. But more importantly it was about having control over _Gladiolus Amicitia_.

 

It felt like ages had gone by. Gladio was sure Prompto’s knees ached from being on them on the hard floor. He sure as hell was having difficulty remaining upright as well with his own beginning to grow weak and thighs shaking. He could feel himself breaking a sweat on his brow. When did it so hot in here? A familiar pull in his lower abdomen sent a signal to Gladio he was approaching climax. Twitching to hold off for a bit longer, Gladio looks down to see Prom's face pressed flat in his lap, nose buried in dark curls; cock entirely down his throat.

 

Then suddenly, that warmth is gone and the cool air of the room hits Gladio. Looking down once again, Prom is sitting on the backs of his legs, yawning and rubbing his achy jaw. Before he could say anything, Prom sighs, “You gonna fuck me or what?” In all honesty, Prom was getting a tad bit bored. Gladio had done well with being a bit aggressive but now he was having Prom do all the work. And there was no fucking way the Shield was going to have all the fun with getting the best head of his life, blow his load, and not get anything in return. Loud pops in his knees, Prom stands up and walks away in search for his bedroom. “ 'M assume you're following me.”

 

Gladio nearly trips over himself with his pants tangled at his feet. Yanking them up, he goes after Prom, taking large steps. And by the time he's rounded the doorway to the room, the blond Niff had just dropped his own trousers, revealing his perfectly round pale freckled ass, strong thighs, shapely calves. He had silver and pink scars which decorated his defined back. Gladio had heard of the Guardian’s participation of the invasion which caused those very scars. He had even heard rumors of his upbringing which may have also contributed those markings. Gladio snaps out of his thoughts when the cheeky little shit glances over his shoulder with a cocky smirk, “Like what you see?”

 

“I've seen worse.” Gladio muses. Raking his eyes up and down the beautiful figure and stroking his chin, Gladio tilts his side to side in thought, “So by default...yeah.” he nods with a shrug, offering a small smile in show of his humor. Prompto laughs and shakes his head, calling him a fucking prick. The older man watches the other lift this knees one at a time to crawl on the bed, making it creak gently under his weight. Prompto twists at his hips to lay on his back with his legs spread. Between those thick thighs, he wordlessly beckons Gladio with his fingers. And like a classically conditioned recruit, Gladio goes to him.

 

Arms out and legs spread, Prompto embraces him. Their mouths crash once more and they both work together to get the remaining clothes off Gladio's Godly body. Eager and panting, Prom wraps his small hand around their members, stroking them firmly. His hips move up into his own hand in pursuit of more friction, more pleasure, “ _Aah, fuck._ ” he sighs breathlessly against Gladio's lips. Small beads of precome spill down their cocks, intermingling together as one. “G-nn! Go t’that bag over there,” Prom gasps, his eyes tightly shut from the pleasure. “Front pocket, lube.”

 

Turning his head, Gladio sees the bag. In one large step, Gladio lunges for it, slapping his hand on the bag and yanking it back to the bed. The zipper flies open and Gladio shoves his hand in the pocket in search for the lube Prompto spoke of. Feeling only one item in the compartment, Gladio pulls out a cylinder bottle containing every man's best friend for lonely and lucky nights. Not needing further direction, Gladio pumps generous amounts of lubricant on to his thick fingers. Tossing the bottle onto the other pillow, he knocks Proms leg out of the way and braces the back of the other with his free hand to lift Prom's hips up. To be helpful, Prom pulls back his legs and cranes his neck to watch down below.

 

Gladio was pleased to learn Prom was perfectly smooth from his balls to hole. His fingers mindlessly felt over the soft skin before rubbing the tight ring of muscle he'd soon be stretching. Encouraged, Gladio carefully slips one digit inside Prom's hot tight entrance, doing exactly as the man below him desired. Gladio additionally learns Prompto is quick to get on with the order of business-- he didn't care for gentle and attentive preparation. Impatient and driven mad with lust, he demanded for more fingers to fill and stretch him. “Alright enough,” Prom said, tapping Gladio's arm to get his attention. He blindly feels for his bag and hauls it up with one arm in search for the small box of condoms he had kept away. The Amicitia wouldn't know but, Prompto preferred coming in condoms for easy clean up whenever he masturbated. So having such things on hand was normal for him. Handing over a single foil packet, Prom instructs Gladio to put it on and put it in.

 

It takes all of two milliseconds for Gladio to snatch the packet and rip it open. Rolling it on tightly, he picks up the lubricant once more and liberally coats his cock. “Sure you're ready?” He asks.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah do it. I want it.” Prom says hurriedly, licking his lips and all.

 

Lining himself up, Gladio slowly presses the blunt of his head in. They both groan in unison and Prom falls a bit limp in satisfaction of being penetrated. “Keep going.” He says just above a whisper. And Gladio does. He can't help but moan and grunt at the tight hot feeling surrounding him. He watches Prompto, looking for cues of discomfort as he reaches the hilt, and noticed he's awfully quiet.

 

“You okay?”

 

Prom cracks open his eyes and looks to the man above, “Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?”

 

“Just-- you're real quiet.”

 

“And?”

 

“Well-- I dunno if you're loving or hating this.”

 

Prom squints in confusion. Realization dawns on him and he smiles and laughs a little, “It's fine, dude. Just keep going. I'll tell you if I don't like something.” With a sudden lock of his ankles, he jerks Gladio forward, who barely catches himself. “Now get on with it and fuck me.”

 

A bit annoyed, Gladio pulls his hips back and carefully drops his weight back into Prompto, who grunts a little and closes his eyes again, soaking up the feeling of the pleasure he was receiving. However it was quite difficult for Gladio to contain some of his own pleasures.

 

It just felt weird not hearing his partner moaning as he usually experienced in the past. He normally wasn't the noisey one. And currently he was feeling as if he was fucking Prompto for his own pleasure, when in reality it felt as if it was the opposite. And please, understand, he didn't feel like he was being used…or maybe he did and was perhaps enjoying the feeling. No one really dared to challenge Gladio, or pursue him so strongly. As arrogant and aggravating the Niff was...he was a breath of fresh air. So of course, _naturally_ , Gladio felt curious about him. Seeing as he was receiving the attention from Prom, he wanted to know how far it would carry him.

 

“ 'M not fragile,” Prom said in a cracked voice. “Come on-- haven't I pissed you off enough today t’make you break me?” He continued to egg Gladio on. But Gladio wasn't exactly mad. Annoyed, sure, but not enough to get rough. He didn't need anger to do that. The way he saw it? Prompto was a little greedy power bottom. He was in charge.

 

Using his size and strength to his advantage, Gladio bends Prompto in half and gathers both of his thin wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head, while the other surrounded his throat in a tight grip. The look of surprise and excited sparkles in those vibrant violet eyes, and there's a strain in his voice to vocalize that may have resembled a moan. Gladio chuckles, panting through his efforts, “You kinky little shit. You really like this, don't you?” Prom bites his lip smiling and rolls his eyes into the back of his head, and goes slack. Gladio could feel Prom's insides soften and pull him back in at the same time. “Shit,” Gladio grunts, his hips stuttering for a moment to delay his approaching orgasm. With his thumb under that proud jaw, Gladio turns Prom's face away and leans down to suck a bright red mark on his neck; marking his visit on that delicious pale skin. Fuck this was good. Turning his face back, Gladio loosens his hand in favor to kiss Prompto hard.

 

“Mn, hit me.”

 

Gladio perks up at that, feeling as if he misheard the other. “What?”

 

“Y’heard me. Hit me. Slap me around.” Prom says clearly. Now Gladio is most definitely hesitant in treading deeper into this territory of sexual exploration. “Open hand. Right on the cheek big buy.” Prom instructed in a kind voice. “I trust you.”

 

Burying himself deeply in Prom, Gladio gives his trembling arms punning Proms hands a break and places it on his flushed speckled chest. Releasing his throat, Gladio cups Prom's cheek, feeling how smooth his skin way and how his freckles decorated his face. He taps him to get a feel for it, only to get a giggle out of the man below, “Really?” Prom dead panned, a bit amused. “Slap me like you would spank me, come on. Don't be scared.” This behemoth of a legendary man could beat him to a pulp and Prom would let him. There's this haze in his eyes that shows he's on the edge of being blissed out. It's this very look that drops all doubt and reservation.

 

Quick like lightning, Gladio strikes his hand across Prompto's face. It stings, but it doesn't hurt like hits to face in fights. It's perfect. “ _Yes_ ,” Prom gasps, trying to catch his breath from the overdriven sexual feeling within him. Another slap to the other cheek, and across once more, Prompto is a moaning mess. “Again.” He requests, rewrapping his legs around Gladio's waist tightly. Another crisp slap fills the room, and all sensibility leaves Gladio. He overpowers Prompto, grabbing him roughly and does as he pleases; Prompto simply thrives off the treatment. “That's more like it.” He manages to rasp as his legs are ripped apart and flipped on his stomach.

 

An additional round later, both men are panting and laid out on the bed. “Shit, you really know how to wield a sword.” Prom says, laughing at his own innuendo. He looks over to the man in his bed and taps him to get his attention, “But seriously, I had a good time.” He says with a smile. He wouldn't apologize for the way he harassed and agitated Gladio-- or else this wouldn't have had happened. He gets up and wanders off somewhere, only to come striding back in to hand Gladio’s clothes back, “But you might wanna get outta here.” Prom says casually as he walks back out to the main room in a nothing but a robe.

 

Gladio dresses haphazardly and follows the blond as he buttons all the pieces back together. He sees the Niff pouring himself a post coital glass, keeping his back to him. “I uh...enjoyed myself as well,” Gladio admits.

 

“Wow,” Prom laughs, “how did them words taste comin’ out of your mouth?”

 

“Like vinegar.” Gladio replies, tucking his belt in place. “But listen, I'd appreciate it if--”

 

“Don't worry big guy. Our secret is safe.” Prompto slams back a second drink in a row and is already pouring a third. “You're not the only one jeopardizing international affairs and honor for a quick fuck.”

 

They had both been careless. If either one of them had intended to breach to collect intelligence or kill one another, the distracted one wouldn't have had enough time to respond in haste. But this certainly proved some trust. Even if it could be used against each other.

 

Fixing his high collar and smoothing out his hair, Gladio takes his leave with a curt nod. With the glass tipped up, Prompto winks. And just as Gladio turns his back, Prompto calls out, “Let's do this again sometime.” Gladio slows his steps upon hearing those words, but continues to make his exit. Would he do this again? At what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since school is over and i took some actual time for myself to decompress, i was able to write this little number here. Hope you liked it! Stay tuned for more!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Tell me what you think in the comments section below! Or, hit me up on tumblr (located in my profile). I can talk promptio day and night.


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